


bad ideas, but ideas nonetheless

by segmentcalled



Series: close the door, hold the phone, show me how [1]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Communication, Drunk Sex, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Relationship, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: He wouldn’t say that he had set out to make a bad decision.Well.Not unless pressed, would he admit to it.





	bad ideas, but ideas nonetheless

**Author's Note:**

> _i'm standing in brooklyn just waiting for something to happen_  
>  _i can't help but look thinking that everyone doesn't get it_  
>  _to my left is a window (where did i go?)_  
>  _my reflection just blends in to rows of clothes_  
>  \- [one foot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Tuyw9WBFkQ), fun.
> 
> content warning for sex between two characters who are both drunk and have not previously negotiated consent. they both are 100% definitely for sure into it, but if drunk sex makes you uncomfortable i'd advise skipping this one

He wouldn’t say that he had set out to make a bad decision. 

Well. 

Not unless pressed, would he admit to it.

It’s just. Things have been a lot lately. And, yeah, it’s not, like, smart to go drink about it, but he’s going to anyway, because he never claimed to make good decisions.

He’s well past buzzed when he hears a familiar voice call out _hey!_ and suddenly there’s a hand clutching his arm. It’s the one, the only, the precocious wunderkind Brian David Gilbert. Wait, those adjectives might be a little redundant. But he’s _smiling_ at Pat, hazel eyes sparkling, looking genuinely pleased to see him and also, quite probably, considerably less than sober himself.

“Hey,” Pat says, as Brian slides into the seat next to Pat. He’s changed since Pat saw him at work; he’s wearing jeans so tight they look like they could be painted on, and a dark purple v-neck t-shirt with a collar that dips way too low for Pat’s eyes not to track it for a half-second, before he remembers himself. “You here with someone?” he says, because he wouldn’t expect Brian, of all people, to take himself out on a maudlin adventure. Especially not in that outfit.

Brian shrugs. “Went with my roommate, but he just left with someone. I was about to leave too, but then I saw you! How is it _go-ing_?” he says, half-singsonging. Holy shit, dude.

“Alright,” Pat says mildly. “You want a drink?” he says, even though he shouldn’t be offering, even though both of them seem like they probably should’ve been cut off for the night an hour ago, even if Pat hides it marginally better. But Brian accepts, because clearly Pat isn’t the only one with poor judgment tonight.

Brian is chatty; he tells Pat about his roommate Jonah and the cute guy that Jonah went home with and ooh have you seen that thing Simone showed him earlier this dumb video with a dog see look at it isn’t it good I told you so and _ohmygod_ I didn’t know you were gay too —

“What?” Pat says abruptly, because _what_ how did he noscope that —

“Oh, shit,” Brian says, eyes wide. “Was I wrong? I’m sorry, I — I just thought —” He gives a sort of wince, and gestures to where Pat’s phone is sitting unlocked and showing the second page of apps, and, oh _fuck_ , “y’know, ‘cause Grindr.”

“I haven’t even used it, I don’t know why I still have it,” Pat says in a sort of strangled voice. “Allegra set up a profile for me and I never opened it again.”

Brian studies him; his usual laser-focus has blurred somewhat, but those big dark eyes capture Pat no matter what. “As, like, a joke?”

“Yes? No. Well, sort of.” Pat sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I’d maybe use it if I wasn’t deathly afraid of hookup apps, is what I mean. So, uh. Yeah. Guess you got that one on me. Good job.” He snatches his phone back and glares at the screen, and makes the executive decision to delete the app for actual before he locks it.

“I’m sorry,” Brian says again. “I — I didn’t know it was — you — I — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I’m drunk and stupid. That’s all. I won’t tell, I swear. I didn’t know you weren’t out. I’m s —”

Pat cuts him off before he can apologize again. “I’m not _not_ out,” he says. “I just didn’t know how you knew. ‘Cause I’m not. Uh. Public about it. That’s all. You’re fine.”

“Okay,” Brian says. Takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Pat says. “It’s fine.” He honestly hadn’t known Brian _didn’t_ know. He doesn’t actively try to keep it a secret from his friends — coworkers — acquaintances — whichever one of these categories Brian falls into, it just doesn’t come up unless it’s relevant. “I don’t care if you know, you’re not gonna be a shit about it, right?”

“No! No, of course not. I’m, uh, I’m bi, so I mean,” Brian says, with a shrug. He knocks back the rest of his drink, and eyes Pat, his empty glass, and stares him in the face for a long moment. Pat can’t make himself look away. “Y’want another? So we’re square?”

“You don’t gotta make it up to me,” Pat mumbles, though he wouldn’t object. “Only if you actually want to.”

“I do,” Brian says, and levels his gaze at Pat in a way that sends a hot thrill of nervous anticipation through his veins, though he has no real right to feel it. Right?

Brian’s touchy-feely, as a person, as a rule. Pat doesn’t mind; Simone’s the same, and any awkwardness he’s felt at being physically close to a coworker was burned out somewhere between _Game Ogre_ and the _Shadow of the Colossus_ stream. But — Brian lays a hand on Pat’s arm, and something about it feels different. Feels intentional. Feels weighted. He lingers; and looks at Pat over his glasses, and, and, and _fuck_.

Pat’s wanted Brian since — god, he doesn’t even know how long. Ages. Seems like it goes beyond time, like he’s wanted him since before he even knew of his existence. Over the year or so Pat’s known him, he’s really grown into his confidence, having found his niche, his voice, and people who like him. His new series is taking off in a big way, and Pat’s not surprised — between the esoteric geek knowledge and the nearly-manic frenetic conveyance of information and the way he strips layers of his suit in the first episode, there’s certainly something for everyone. Pat’s not oblivious to his own feelings; he knows where on that scale he falls.

But the way Brian’s looking at him — he’s looking at him like he might want him _back_. Like if Pat took the plunge, if he went for it, he’d meet a willing counterpart, someone to take it and push back in kind.

He’s surprised to notice his glass is empty again, and that alone is enough of an indication that he should probably stop.

“I should probably get home before I do anything stupid,” is what he says, instead of whatever he actually meant to say. Brian’s eyes flick up to his face.

“Like what, Pat Gill?” His tone is innocent; his eyelashes flutter; he licks his goddamn lips.

Pat leans in closer, and when Brian doesn’t jerk back he growls, close to his ear, “Three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

Brian’s openly expressive, and the sharp breath he draws, the way his eyes go wide as he looks at Pat — it’s either very very bad or very very good. Pat sits back quickly, spreads his hands and raises his eyebrows, as if to say, _I’ve laid my cards out for you. Take it or leave it_. He waits for the metaphorical third guess, and hopes he hasn’t fucked up in a major way.

Brian leans over to Pat, and he expects a whisper, he expects Brian to say something, but instead he gets a hot exhale against the shell of his ear before Brian takes his earlobe delicately between his teeth and tugs lightly. Now it’s Pat’s turn to draw a sharp, shivery breath and stare at Brian in open disbelief.

“Take me home,” Brian breathes.

And how could Pat say no to that?

Okay, alright, oops, yikes, yes, he may be a little more drunk than he thought he was; he stands and the room spins a little, but he catches himself before he staggers. Or. Hopefully. Brian looks amused, watching him, so maybe he wasn’t so graceful about it. Brian slides out of his chair and wraps an arm around Pat’s waist. He’s warm, and his shirt is soft under Pat’s fingers as he drapes an arm around his shoulders. He’s not all that much shorter than Pat, and his hair is fluffy and light and tickles Pat’s wrist.

“Yours or mine?” Pat says.

“Yours, if it’s not too much trouble?” Brian says. “My sister’s home.”

Pat winces sympathetically and Brian laughs. God, he likes his laugh so much. He can’t — fuck, he can’t believe that Brian’s letting him touch him like this, just having an arm around him, even, letting him touch him at _all_ with intent, with permission.

“Kiss me,” Brian whispers, outside, as they wait for their ride, and Pat tilts his head down and Brian tilts his head up and their lips meet. His lips are soft and damp and part easily for Pat; it’s hard to keep it chaste enough for being in public, when he’s responsive like that, when he tightens his grip on Pat’s waist and keeps him close.

But they make it home, somehow, make it all the way up to Pat’s apartment. His roommate’s gone for the weekend, so it’s just them, which means that as soon as the door closes behind them Pat can push Brian up against it and shove his hands up his shirt, kiss him hot and graceless and desperate. Brian moans, unreserved, like all he needed was to be behind closed doors to make these beautiful sounds for Pat.

“Christ, Brian,” Pat says, kissing his way to the side of Brian’s neck. Brian is panting already. “You’re so fucking hot, I’ve wanted you for — for — for _ages_ , god.”

“Really?” Brian says, sounding honestly surprised, which surprises Pat enough that he has to pull back and look at him.

“Dude, _yeah_ , have you fuckin’ seen yourself? You’re _brilliant_. I can’t believe you’d — I — that you —” He stutters, as Brian pushes his fingers into Pat’s hair; his eyes flutter closed as he leans into it. “You’re _perfect_ , and I’m — _ghh_ —” He cuts off with a gasp when Brian tugs on his hair.

“You’re perfect, Pat Gill,” Brian says softly, and presses his mouth against Pat’s jaw. “You’re so — _god_ , look at you, you really like your hair fucked with that much?”

“Yeah. But I — I like anything, long as it’s coming from you,” Pat says; it’s easier to confess this while his eyes are still closed. He hears Brian’s breathing stutter, at that. “People don’t — I don’t — I haven’t — no one touches me, anymore, not really, not like this,” he says, and oh that sounds sad, oh his voice sounds sad, even, shit.

“Oh, Patrick,” Brian says softly. “Let me, then. Where’s your bedroom?”

Brian crowds himself against Pat, when they’re in his room, herds him towards the bed until the backs of his legs hit it and he loses his balance and sends them both tumbling, laughing. Brian pushes himself up first, propped up on his hands over Pat, and _oh hello_. Brian’s eyes go to Pat’s mouth, back to meet his eyes; Pat watches his tongue flick across his lips.

Pat reaches out, rests a hand at Brian’s waist, hoping to keep him here, over him. He wants him so _bad_ and he can’t believe he’s going to — that he gets to —

Brian kisses him. He straddles Pat’s hips and shoves his hands into Pat’s hair and kisses him, hard and wanting, like it’s all he could ever want to do. Pat moans into him, unable to help it; Brian rocks his hips against Pat, experimental and then _interested_ , and Pat writhes under him, trying to get purchase to rut against him, to get friction against himself, oh god he didn’t know how badly he wanted this, needed this, until now, not until Brian’s hot lithe body was pressed up against his did it fully hit him and now he’s swept up in the thick of it, in how badly he wants to touch and be touched.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Brian says, soft and silky-sweet, and Pat tries to speak but his voice breaks on a whine as Brian rolls his hips.

“Touch me,” Pat says, god, he doesn’t even care anymore how desperate he sounds, he’s drunk and he’s horny and he’s needy and he wants to get naked with Brian David Gilbert and he just absolutely does not give a fuck about propriety or dignity at this point, he cannot even bear to give a shit. “ _Please_.”

“Take off your shirt,” Brian says. Pauses, appraises him. “Actually, take off as many clothes as you want, let’s expedite this shit.”

This makes Pat laugh, as he wriggles out of his t-shirt. Brian’s still on his lap — in his lap? — one of those prepositions, anyway — and he waits for Pat to escape the inside of his shirt before he strips his own off, much more smoothly. He’s fucking _gorgeous_ , smooth skin and slim softness belying muscle, and if Pat wasn’t in the middle of trying to get himself out of these goddamn jeans with a devastatingly attractive man on top of him he’d be touching him _everywhere_.

He does finally manage it, though, and then he’s in boxer briefs and sprawled out against the pillows and Brian is on hands and knees over him, in the same state of undress. His hair is long, so much longer than it was when they first met; it falls in waves around his face as he looks down at Pat. Pat can feel the open pining on his own face, knows he’s showing his whole ass here, and suddenly can’t make himself move unless Brian lets him, unless he has explicit permission to.

“Sweet thing, look at you,” Brian murmurs, and lowers himself against Pat. He can’t help an intake of breath, stunned as he remembers how it feels to press his bare skin to someone else’s. He could almost cry of it, of the soft careful warmth gliding against him as Brian runs a hand over Pat’s arm, as he shifts around to find the most comfortable way to arrange both of them. Brian turns his head and rests it on Pat’s chest, ear pressed over his heartbeat; he’s sure it must be racing.

He wants, he _wants_ him so badly, but the ache that has its claws deepest inside Pat is abated by this, by Brian, so _alive_ and vital and present, chest-to-chest, as Brian traces curious explorative fingers over Pat’s forearm, bicep, shoulder, neck, collarbone, chest. The other chasm inside Pat, the hornier twin to loneliness, finds its grip again too when Brian’s fingertips tease at Pat’s nipple, and _god_ he shouldn’t be so worked up, they’ve just made out a little, hardly touched for long at all, in the scope of things, and yet Pat is ready to yield to Brian, to fall apart for him.

Brian must, on some level, know this, and he does Pat a kindness for it. He scoots up a little, to press slow openmouthed kisses to the side of Pat’s neck, and keeps touching him, all over everywhere. Pat realizes he’s clinging to Brian, his arms tight around his back, but Brian makes no move to free himself.

“I want — please,” Pat gasps, and doesn’t even know how to finish it, because what he wants is everything, absolutely everything, all at once, he wants Brian to make Pat take everything he can handle, he hasn’t been touched like this in so very long, god, _god_.

“I got you, baby,” Brian murmurs. “I’m gonna take good care of you. Gonna make you feel so, so good. I promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” Pat says, staring at him, breathless.

Brian kisses him again. He’s fierce and intent and pours his whole being into it; his hands seem to be everywhere, but most often at least one is in Pat’s hair, because Pat draws shuddery grateful breaths when Brian pulls it in counterpoint to the outright gentleness of the rest of him. He’s not a bitey kisser, mostly, but neither of them are operating at full capacity and they clack teeth more than once. Which is fine. He can’t hold it against him. Really, he’d be perfectly happy if Brian just shoved his tongue in Pat’s mouth and he wouldn’t even care if that was all the finesse either of them could manage. It’s a little Freudian, probably, that he wants some part of, any part of Brian inside him so badly, but _fuck_.

“Jeez, Pat,” Brian says, “god, you sound so fucking _good_.”

Pat had hardly even realized how loud he was being, how he moans when Brian does something he likes. They’re not even fucking yet and he can’t help himself.

“I wanna fuck you,” Brian says, “but frankly I doubt either of us are up to prepwork tonight. I don’t feel like I’d give my best work on a blowjob right now and, Pat, baby, you’re gorgeous and perfect and hot as hell, but you are in no state either, ‘specially worked up like this. So. Table those ideas, I think, and let me take your underwear off and jerk us off?”

“Please,” Pat says, in, god, in practically a whimper, and Brian moves quick. He’s half out of his mind with pure unfiltered desperation, with the need to be touched.

When Brian kisses him again, he gets his hand around Pat’s cock, and Pat whines and bucks his hips up so hard that it startles Brian into a laugh.

“Sorry — _sorrysorrysorry_ it just feels — so _good_ —“

“Don’t be sorry, baby, I love it. I want you to feel good. Lemme kiss you more.”

Pat reels him back in to get his mouth against his again. He swears he’s a better kisser than this, ordinarily, but he kisses Brian sloppy and rough, too much tongue, too much everything, kisses him like he’d like to crawl inside his skin and live inside his chest cavity just to be _closer_ to him.

He doesn’t last long at all. Brian jerks him — both of them — hard and fast, as Pat moans and sobs and begs and curses and, and, and, — as his back arches and he cries out in warning, shoves his face against Brian’s shoulder as he shudders apart.

He’s crying, he realizes at length. Brian is petting at him, soothing and gentle, murmuring soft little things like _ssh, shh, hey baby I got you I’m here_.

“Sorry,” Pat mumbles against his skin.

“That’s sure my favorite thing to hear after having sex with someone,” Brian says; it’s delivered like a joke, but definitely is not one. There’s a nervous waver in his voice. Which, fair enough, Pat is currently fucking crying all over him.

He sniffs and sits back and drags his palms over his face. “Meant sorry for crying. For being, uh. Being a lot.”

“Not at all. Not too much. You don’t have to apologize for that,” Brian says. He moves as if to pull Pat close again, but then he hesitates. The hesitation feels like the cracks spreading through a pane of glass right before it shatters. Pat wants to say he can touch him, wants to say please touch me, wants to say much more than that, but the yawning maw of terrified loneliness inside him is back in full force, sucking his words in. “Should, uh. Should we clean up?” Brian says, into the pause they’ve hit.

It feels, somehow, like a punch to the gut. Even though they’re both gross and tacky with cum and sweat, even though he knows they need to do that, it reverberates through him.

“Don’t go,” Pat pleads, hardly even a whisper, and Brian’s expression drops into something concerned-anxious-sad. He finds Pat’s hand and holds it.

“Are you okay?” Brian says quietly.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Pat says, and oh _Christ_ his voice breaks and now he’s swallowing hard around the pre-crying tightness in his throat. He can’t read Brian’s expression. “I — I mean — I mean, fuck, I mean, shit, I, I — I’m sorry, Brian, I’m not — I’m not in the right place to — I shouldn't've said that — if — if you need to go, you can go. I won’t be upset. I won’t keep you if you don’t want to be kept. We can — we can forget about it, if you want to, I’ll be normal I _promise_ —”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Brian says, gentle and calm, laying a hand on Pat’s cheek, the dichotomic opposite of Pat’s snotty anxious rambling. “I liked it lots. I’d like more. But I think we both need to clean up and drink some water and have a good cuddle and get some rest before anything else happens. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pat echoes.

“Come on. I don’t know where your bathroom is, you gotta show me,” Brian says, sitting up and tugging at Pat’s arm. Pat lets him, lets him guide him to his feet — Lord, he would sure like to have sobered up by now in the way that Brian seems to have, or at least is pretending very well to have. He’s so careful at Pat, gentle, sweet; he has him sit on the edge of the bathtub and kneels in front of him with a washcloth. He kisses Pat’s knee, when he’s finished cleaning the mostly-dried cum off his skin, so tenderly, and stands. He’s beautiful, and it aches to look at him and not be touching him.

He feels bad that he’s just sort of being led by Brian, able only to do things with direct instruction; he can’t tell if he’s dissociating or anxious or still drunk or sleepy or all of the above or what, but Brian is patient and doesn’t act like he minds. He gets Pat to drink some water and brush his teeth and he kisses his cheek with what seems like real affection, like he’s maybe not even annoyed by how disastrously out of it Pat is.

When they finally make it back to bed, Brian offers to be the big spoon and Pat could die of gratitude, he _never_ gets to be the little spoon, he’s tall and lanky and a sharp bony cuddle with clumsy elbows — and yet he declines, because he wants to curl himself into Brian facefirst, with Brian’s arm around the small of his back, with Brian stroking his hair, with his face shoved into Brian’s chest. Brian eagerly accepts this offer, and lets Pat press himself as close to Brian as he can possibly be.

Brian holds him close, keeps him tight against him, and hums an absentminded quiet little tune as Pat loses the battle with wakefulness and falls asleep in Brian’s arms. 

He wakes up to an empty bed and a pounding headache, and fear and pain rip into his chest in tandem. He pushes the heels of his hands over his eyes and wills himself not to freak out, god, his head hurts too much to freak out — but Brian — and — and —

“Pat? You okay?” says Brian’s voice from the direction of his door. Pat yanks his hands away from his face and stares at him in open astonishment. He’s not wearing his glasses, but even he can see the way Brian’s expression drops from concern into dismay. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone, I just had to use the bathroom. Can I come back?”

Pat nods wordlessly, and Brian carefully gets back into bed, curls himself around Pat’s back as the big spoon, holds him close but gentle, like he’s afraid of hurting him. He’s wearing underwear now, but Pat’s still fully nude, under the blankets, and he’s not sure what to make of that situation. 

“I thought you left,” Pat says, in a very small voice.

“No, no, never,” Brian says. He pushes his face against the back of Pat’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t. I think we have some conversations to have anyway. How are you feeling?”

“Head hurts,” Pat grumbles.

“Hah. Yeah. What we get for not properly hydrating. You need anything?”

“Don’t wanna move,” Pat says, because he may never move again, actually, so long as Brian keeps holding him. “What do you mean by conversations?”

“I mean,” Brian says, tone carefully even, “we, uh, we certainly did make some choices last night.”

 _Fuck_.

“Do you regret it?” He wouldn’t hold it against him if he did. Pat’s… a lot. He was a lot last night, he’s a lot right now, he will remain a lot for the foreseeable future. He wouldn’t be surprised if —

“Not at all,” Brian says softly. “Do you?”

“Not at all,” Pat echoes. He twists a bit, so he can look at Brian. He’s caught breathless by the earnestness in his face, by the intent and longing he sees there.

“Oh, good,” Brian says, on a sigh of relief. “I was worried — you scared me a little, Pat, last night, not gonna lie.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Pat’s ear. “I’ve never seen you cry before,” he says, and now he’s avoiding eye contact, “never, uh, wow, never really thought about seeing you that vulnerable, and I was — I was really afraid I fucked something up in a big way.”

“You didn’t,” Pat says quietly. “I. Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

Pat turns over the rest of the way, so he can push his face under Brian’s chin, so he doesn’t have to look at him while he bares his heart. “I’m sorry for sort of, uh, sort of flipping my shit. I — it must’ve been about a year before you started here, so you probably don’t know this unless someone told you? But, couple years ago, uh, I got out of a pretty long term relationship. Which. Which is to say I got divorced.”

Brian takes a breath as if to say something, but Pat barrels on so he can’t. God. He doesn’t like to think about that, doesn’t like to think about how this wide-eyed twenty-four-year-old must take _that_ , no matter how brief the marriage was, no matter that they were really just high school sweethearts who thought that it was the only future they had. There’s no way it wouldn’t be daunting, to learn such a weighted fact about someone you’re interested in.

“So like whoops I definitely have some intimacy issues by which I mean, I haven’t fucking had any of it in so long. And, well. I like you a lot, and I — I haven’t had anyone who wanted to do this shit with me in a long time, and that’s _fine_ , I get it. You caught me with my defenses down, that’s all, and I didn’t know how to react to it because I definitely wasn’t, uh, in full working order, or whatever, and so I guess that translates into ‘cry all over this really great guy who’s deigned to hook up with you and probably scare him off because you’re way too intense.’ So. I’m sorry about that, I really am.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Pat,” Brian says, running his fingers through Pat’s hair. “And you didn’t scare me off. I’m still here, aren’t I? I like you a lot too. I promise it doesn’t bother me; we’ve all got baggage, y’know? And it’s really, honestly okay. I’ll keep sticking around, if you do, uh, if you do want to keep me.”

Pat clings to him, hugs him tight, and Brian holds him just as close.

“I think you’re wonderful. I’ve been into you for months, Pat Gill, and you’ve done nothing at all to lessen that. Really, you’ve done the opposite. It’s up to you, of course, but if you’re interested in pursuing this… so am I.”

“Like.” Pat moves back a little, to look Brian in the face. “Like, pursue this as in, as in you want to date me?”

“Yes. Like, very much. If you’re, um. Into that?”

“I’m so into that,” Pat says, and Brian’s expression melts from tension into happiness, to a sweet grateful smile. “For real?”

“For _real_ ,” Brian says. “Stop looking so worried and let me be your boyfriend and also go brush your teeth so I can kiss the daylights out of you, Patrick Gill.”

“That sounds like the ideal situation to me,” Pat says, and he can’t help but smile back when Brian does. “If you’re nice to me I’ll share my shower.”

“Ooh, are you propositioning me?”

“I’d never,” Pat says, and winks at him, which makes him laugh in a way that warms Pat from the inside out.

“You _scoundrel_. C’mon, lazybones, we’ve officially got _plans_ now and I am not going to wait any longer!”

So Pat follows Brian out of bed, following him willingly wherever he wants to go.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i am twenty two years old and have never had a alcohol because i'm stubborn as fuck so please ignore anything that seems unrealistic, for my dignity's sake. thank u  
> other notes: i don't get the impression he was actually married but sometimes you gotta lean into the fandom-wide headcanon and get that extra weight to the loneliness. don't @ me about it either way it's fiction sdfkjgdshfkjg also: finally remembered the second thing, this fic is like this bc ive been on meds for some treatment chronic pain issues and will be for about a week that make it so my brain is Not Firing On All Cylinders so, doesnt have to be completely coherent if the narrator is drunk, right? dfkjgsdfkjgshdfkj i keep repeating the same turns of phrase in this fic but yknow what It's Fine
> 
> @segmentcalled on twitter where i literally never shut up. comment if you req please! i'll delete comments if requested just lmk!


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